CHAPTER XIX.
CATASTROPHE.
(Beginning of July, 1533.)
WHILE these fine liberal theories were being proclaimed at the hôtel de ville and hailed with joy by noble minds, some enemies of the Reform maintained that they were only got up for the occasion, because the reformed were not yet the strongest party, and the bulk of the people, who looked upon them as mere trash, was occupied with other things. The report grew stronger every day that the bishop had made up his mind at last, that his resolution was not to be shaken, and that in obedience to the pope he was about to return to Geneva. The liberty so lately proclaimed was, therefore, seriously endangered.
=PREPARATIONS TO RECEIVE THE BISHOP.=
Every preparation was made for the reception of the prince, whose approaching arrival began to turn people's heads, as usually happens in such a case. Priests, mamelukes, and ducal partisans believed that the hour of their triumph was at hand, and that independence and Reform would be effectually buried. Every man who owned a horse had him dressed, as no one was permitted to go and meet the bishop on foot.[745] The trumpeters rehearsed, the artillerymen got out their guns. Jacques de Malbuisson, one of the chiefs of the catholic party, thinking that there was nothing too fine for a bishop and prince, especially for one who was bringing to the city, as a token of welcome, submission to the pope in religious matters, and to an ecclesiastical sovereign in temporal matters, hung the walls of the episcopal palace with beautiful tapestry, covered the tables and floors with silk and woollen cloth, and filled the rooms with rich furniture. Pierre de la Baume had appointed him quartermaster, and the good catholic intended that the beauty of the decorations should make the Genevans comprehend the greatness of their prince.
If a servile crowd was preparing to sacrifice to a priest the liberties of the people and the Word of God, those who esteemed these treasures far above all others, anticipated with sorrow that all the old vexations were about to be revived. The Two Hundred were assembled: one proud huguenot, jealous of the political liberties, could not contain himself, and rising in the Council, said: 'There is a report that the mamelukes who deserted the city some seven years ago are to escort the bishop and return with him: I ask if it is true?' Instantly the storm broke out. Some said 'Yes!' others 'No!' The debate grew warm; they provoked and abused each other, gave one another the lie, and used very irritating language.[746] At last the huguenots conquered, and the Two Hundred ordered that the mamelukes should not be allowed to enter, for fear that there should be discord instead of harmony in the city.
The syndics foresaw that such a resolution would probably excite confusion in the procession accompanying the bishop; and as they wished to avoid all disputes, they sought an opportunity for bringing men's minds together. Assembling the leaders of the opposing parties, they entreated them, as a sign of peace, to dine together. Such a banquet, they thought, would reconcile factions and dissipate the fears of the prelate. It was an argumentum ad hominem. How could Pierre de la Baume be afraid of men who drank together? Libations were indeed copiously poured out in honour of concord, for the Genevans were always ready in this respect; but the convictions of the two parties remained the same. Wine had no power to change either the champions of the pope or of the people, neither the Guelphs nor the Ghibelines.[747]
On Tuesday, 1st of July, the prince-bishop descended the Jura, attended by his chancellors, the president De Gevigny and many of the nobility, meditating the counter-revolution he hoped to bring about. The Friburg deputies, 'knowing the prelate's timid humour,'[748] went to meet him at Gex, in order to protect his entrance. They turned back with him and drew near the city. This event, which filled the catholics with joy, was a great trouble to the proud huguenots and pious evangelicals, and nearly broke their hearts. The procession seemed to them like a funeral train. Were independence, liberty, the growing Reform—those inestimable riches which are the life of man—to be carried like a dead body to the grave? Were those bells, just beginning to ring, tolling a funeral knell? Everything seemed to point that way.
Just as the brilliant escort that was riding out to meet the bishop crossed the bridge over the Rhone, a troop of about fourscore catholics appeared, all carrying arquebuses. The premier syndic, who was watching them with uneasy look, ordered them to return. 'We are going to our prince,' answered they with spirit. The magistrates and their escort lost sight of them for a few moments, but the troop was again visible when the procession got out of the city. 'They are the most violent of the party,' said some of the syndic's followers. 'They will play us some scurvy trick.' A second time the syndic ordered them to return, and a second time they answered, 'We are going to our prince,' and continued their way.
=THE BISHOP'S ENTRANCE.=
The cortège having proceeded half a league from the city, waited for the bishop, who came in sight about four in the afternoon. By his side were the magistrates of Friburg, and behind him the chiefs of the mamelukes, banished from Geneva but proud of braving those who had expelled them. The intimidated syndics dared not forbid their entrance into the city. Nor was this all: the fourscore arquebusiers surrounded the prelate, assuming the duty of a body-guard. The bells rang out, the artillery roared, and the friends of the clergy shouted repeated vivats. The throne was regaining strength; the majesty of the prince enhanced its splendour, and His Highness inspired respect in all who saw him.[749]